


Love At First Sight According to Maura Isles, MD

by the_scabbard



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 05:27:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_scabbard/pseuds/the_scabbard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Maura falls in love; Regina puts Storybrooke at risk; Jane is jealous and doesn't know why; Emma wants her life back and somebody is murdering nuns for their hearts. ~~DISCONTINUED SORRY~~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Rizzoli & Isles, nor do I own Once Upon a Time and their associated characters, plots and spin-offs.  
> AN: I saw the Sasha/Lana manip on Tumblr and somehow it led to this. What can I say? Wonder Queen feels hit me straight in the left ventricle, as Maura might say. By the way, first time writing Rizzoli & Isles, let me know how badly I screwed up the characters!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Across a crowded room is such a cliché.

Maura Isles is not a romantic.

She thinks she knows where the much-glamourized spark of attraction comes from. It originates from the most primal part of the brain, the part that automatically assesses a potential mating partner based on their ratio of muscle tissue to adipose tissue and their level of attractiveness in accordance to societal conventions.

That doesn’t even begin to describe what happens when she meets Regina Mills.

Jane is with her when it happens, because isn’t she always? Maura can’t imagine the number of times one of them has spied a physically attractive male specimen from across the room and their subtle signs of arousal have become immediately obvious to the other. At least, Maura notices the subtle signs of arousal. Jane merely laughs knowingly when the Medical Examiner states her desire. Overtly.

Well, why wouldn’t she? There should be no confusion. Confusion makes things twisted until her head spins and she can no longer pick the strands apart.

Maura doesn’t see what is different about the fundraiser for small-town youth crime budgets. Granted, it’s not the most scintillating topic and even some of the said small town representatives look like they’d rather be anywhere else, Maura knows that some of the neediest charitable endeavours can be really quite dull. Even _she_ finds Mayor Jenson’s lengthy presentation on pornographic graffiti less than engaging.

The only two people in the room who seem at least minorly self-aware (except Maura herself, of course), are a pair of women, who stand just close enough to the bar to be illuminated but not so close that they seem like chronic drinkers. One, a blonde in inappropriately-tight denim jeans, is wearing almost exactly the same expression as Jane (sitting beside her and presenting her best slouch).

But the other… the other is not bored, or slouching, or miserable, or obvious.

So, no, Maura does not believe in love at first sight. She does not believe in romance, the spiritual kind anyhow, or the idea of locking eyes across a crowded room and thinking that it is anything other than a coincidence of space and angles and time.

But the effect of meeting that woman’s eyes… well, Maura feels it _everywhere_. She burns hot very suddenly, but she knows that she is not embarrassed to be caught looking. She feels no shame in admiration; she is aware of the aesthetic pleasures her own body can bring. So why is she feeling a spontaneous hot flush?

“Hey?” Jane’s gravelly voice brings her back to herself. She realises that the roaring sound in her ears was not a figment of her imagination but over-loud applause; the entire audience is compensating for their lack of attention in the volume of their appreciation. “Are you…?” The low-pitched tone uncharacteristically trails off and Maura break her far-too-long gaze at the stranger to look around at her best friend.

Only to find that Jane has followed the path of her stare to the women, who have begun an obviously heated debate, though it is inaudible to Maura’s ears.

“Do you know her?” Jane enquires softly.

Maura is not by any means the master of social interaction. Nor is she in a habit of using her intestines to navigate a potentially awkward conversation. Logic tells her that Jane has asked her a simple question, which requires only a simple, honest answer. Dishonesty is futile anyway. The unfortunate skin condition which prevents her from lying discreetly makes sure she lives up to the virtue of truth.

“I don’t,” she replies. “I’ve never seen her before in my life.”

Jane’s own gaze flits all over her face, which Maura knows to be an uncommonly open one. She is also painfully aware of the symptoms of arousal spread all over her features. She waits for Jane to connect the dots, like she knows the Detective will.

Jane does not disappoint. “You like her,” her best friend accuses, her mouth dropping open.

At this, she has to roll her eyes. “She’s sexually attractive,” Maura corrects. “The word ‘like’ implies a judgement made after a social interaction.”

Jane grabs her bag from the seat next to her, turning her back on the Medical Examiner and for a moment Maura is terrified that she might have made a horrible mistake. These sort of social catastrophes occur much less often now that she has Jane to guide her through her personal relationships. But occasionally she still will, to use the colloquial expression, put her foot in her mouth.

But when her best friend turns back around to face her, her lips are stretched and her teeth are bared in smile. “Go for it, Maur,” Jane encourages. “Listen, I have to get back to my crappy little apartment to do, er... vacuuming. But have fun. Buy her a drink or something.”

To Maura, vacuuming does not sound like an activity which would be a higher priority than conversation with her friend over drinks, but goodness knows that she’s seen the state of bacterial contamination in Jane’s apartment. “Good night, Jane,” she quickly embraces her friend, and winces when their bodies press together. She is already aroused by the thought of the mysterious brunette in the corner of the room and when Jane’s breasts press against her own and she can inhale the scent of her hair, she feels herself become impossibly turned on.

Impossible because Maura-the-scientist knows roughly where her arousal threshold is (if such a thing even exists, she just knows the levels she’s managed to reach before) and she thinks she may have surpassed it. By exchanging a glance with an, admittedly gorgeous, stranger and a normal embrace with her best friend.

Odd. Perhaps youth crime awareness in small towns has had a more stimulating effect on her than she had thought?

She is so absorbed in the mystery that she barely even notices Jane’s departure. Nor is she adequately aware enough of her surroundings to act naturally when a stranger taps her on the shoulder. Instead, she thinks she may have embarrassed herself when she jumps approximately two to three inches off the chair.

“Expecting an attack?” The voice asks dryly. It is a low voice, like Jane’s, but much more sexual than her friend could ever manage. Not that Jane isn’t capable of sensuality, but this woman’s voice… if Maura was one for words, artistic and figurative words, that is; she might describe it as something like warm liquid chocolate.

Maura turns to meet the woman’s gaze. It is, as she has guessed, the woman who she had been staring at so overtly earlier on. But this is the first time she has taken a good, perceptive look at her up close. And if she is correct about the primal part of the brain that immediately assesses a potential mate, that part seems very content to let this encounter continue through the night until its natural conclusion.

She’s not too sure how to answer the stranger’s question, so she defaults to her usual defense when meeting somebody whose identity she does not know (alive, that is. She’s hardly going to take her scalpel to this beautiful specimen). She offers her hand. “Dr Maura Isles.”

“Regina Mills,” The brunette counters. Regina. The etymology is hardly difficult – Queen. _Of what?_ Maura wonders. “I’m the Mayor of a small town in Maine. Unfortunately, I was forced to come to play babysitter to our sullen Sheriff.”

So that was the woman whom Regina had been with earlier. Perhaps the primal part of her brain sighs with relief. Maura’s lips quirk in amusement. She is well-aware that her cranium is incapable of breathing sighs of relief.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Maura asks. She is glad of her near-shamelessness at that moment. The kind of shamelessness that enables her to do thinks like ride a horse nude and that often leads to frequent sexual intercourse.

She wonders if Regina senses that about her, because the Mayor inclines her head and studies Maura’s wide-open face like she’s thinking deeply or analytically. Maura is the (not self-proclaimed) master of facial expression, but despite having the same indicators this woman is somehow much harder to read than most average members of humanity.

Regina is not indecisive. This much Maura knows. But she _is_ contemplative. “I can’t,” she says momentarily, expressing regret in her face. “The Sheriff is unfortunately of some significance to my son; I can’t be held responsible for anything untoward happening to her tonight.”

“I understand,” Maura nods and she does, but she finds herself more and more attracted to Regina the longer that they talk. She has revealed several personal details in only a few sentences and Maura wonders if she’s even aware of what she is doing. Jane’s earlier guess, that Maura _liked_ Regina merely from visually appreciation, is becoming more and more accurate by the second.

Mayor Mills looks conflicted. She is displaying all the key traits. Hands in her coat pockets, lip biting and body inclined towards Maura. “I have to go,” she says apologetically. “I can’t let Sheriff Swan get herself into any more trouble.” She extracts a business card from her blazer pocket and proffers it to Maura. “Give me a call,” Regina smiles a toothy smirk. “Or if you ever get tired of the big city…”

Maura smiles back; not just because it is the socially accepted convention to do so but because it feels right to do so. “I could consider venturing into the deep unknown of Maine.”

Regina leans forward to whisper in her ear and Maura has to exert considerable body control to stop herself from shivering. “Find me if you can.”

It isn’t until much later, quarter past eight in the evening in fact, that Maura digs out the business card and takes a good look at the address. _Find me if you can_. It’s an odd challenge, in the age of Google Maps and smartphones.

She squints at the address. Her eyebrows quirk. How unusual.

_Storybrooke._


	2. Where the hell is Storybrooke, Maine?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane and Maura have tracked down Regina, but they have also found Storybrooke in all its bizarre glory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Rizzoli & Isles, nor do I own Once Upon a Time and their associated characters, plots and spin-offs.  
> AN: And… the oneshot continues. This is what I’ve been working on in-between With the Tide rewrites, so… hope you like!

There is a new woman in town.

In any other place, this would be an entirely unremarkable event. But as Emma pauses to watch the stranger park her swanky Merc on the curb, she is internally panicking. Storybrooke is a town of giants and magic beans and fucking _fairies_ for crying out loud. Whoever this woman is, the chances are that, due to her ignorance, she’ll be either dead or in the loony bin under the hospital that they don’t talk about within the week.

The stranger gets out the car, not even stumbling slightly on her high heels, and Emma gasps a little bit when she realises exactly who the stranger reminds her of. The posh car, the heels, the perfect hair… it is all a dead ringer for Regina Mills.

And it is only when Emma makes the connection with Regina that she knows where she remembers this woman from. That conference in Boston which Regina had dragged her to while both their offices has been fumigated to remove all traces of the toxic _dentedrago_ poison. It was as good a reason as any to get out of Storybrooke and visit Boston, but Emma hadn’t appreciated the so-called ‘educational activities’ which Regina had cunningly slipped into the itinerary.

 This woman had been in attendance at the conference. And what’s more, she had exchanged a fair few words with Regina. The Evil Queen’s beauty and charisma must’ve pulled her in, like it had so many others, and caused her to come searching.

 _Shit_.

Emma turns around and fumbles with her keys, coffee and stack of paperwork, trying to balance them and unlock the Sheriff’s station. The newly-discovered colony of imps who were living in the woods kept trying to break through the fairies’ hastily erected protection spells and suck out all their magic. And _she_ has to lead a raid on them that afternoon. The last thing she needs is some stick-up-her-ass city girl disturbing the relative peace of Storybrooke. Okay, maybe peace is a bad word. Privacy, perhaps.

“Would you like any help with that?” Comes a voice from behind her and Emma stills her efforts with a sigh, posture slumping.

“Sure,” she says resignedly, and hands the city girl, no she’s _definitely_ a woman, her keys. She inserts the key in the lock and twists with one smooth motion. The door clicks open and the woman smiles at her.

Emma leads the way into the station and her office, dropping the stack of paperwork onto her desk with a loud bang. To her credit, the stranger doesn’t even jump, instead eyeing the rudimentary jail cells with interest. Leroy lies snoring in the left one, but the right remains unoccupied. Of course, Emma thinks ruefully, remembering her own introduction to the little town in main, the stranger could be languishing in there by the end of the day.

“Dr Maura Isles,” the blonde holds out her hand, and Emma takes it after a moment’s hesitation. Not just any stick-up-her-ass city woman… a _doctor._

“Sheriff Emma Swan,” she smiles at Maura. “Welcome to Storybrooke.”

Emma breaks away to take a long glug of coffee and finds to her satisfaction that Ruby has already added the exact amount of cream which Emma likes. Whatever you say about small towns, they do have _some_ benefits. “So what brings you here?” Emma asks when it becomes clear that the woman herself is not going to say anything and is just keeping her eyes locked on the Sheriff. Clearly, this is not her morning.

“I’m actually looking for somebody,” Maura smiles in a nervous sort of way. Emma hates to admit it, but it looks kind of cute. “Your Mayor, Regina Mills?”

Emma’s chuckle spills accidently from her throat. She may have been out of the bail bonds-person game for a little while, but her instincts still appear to be right on. Still, her gut bubbles a little at the thought of what this woman might want with Regina. Emma’s not stupid – she had her chance long ago and she blew it; but the thought that this Maura Isles came from Boston to find Emma’s ex-girlfriend and the mother of her son…

Not appealing.

“Why would that be?” Emma enquires, rather than being a helpful law enforcement officer and directing the doctor to the City Hall, where the Mayor’s office is located.

Maura’s answering beam at her curiosity makes Emma wish that she hadn’t asked. The longer she talks to this woman, the more and more she feels like Maura is just ridiculously… _genuine_. Does she really want to confirm her suspicions?

“I met her at that conference we both attended in Boston a little while ago,” Maura smiles. “You know?” She prompts. “The one on graffiti in small towns?”

Emma knows. Emma remembers. But for some reason which she can’t put her finger on, she lies. “I’m not sure,” she sits down in her chair and takes a gulp of coffee. “We go to so many of these things, it gets hard to keep track.”

She is trying to put Maura off, but part of her knows that it is all so inevitable. If Maura has come all the way from Boston to track Regina down, there’s no way in which Emma will be able to deter her now. So she gives in and decides to treat the Mayor’s new suitor with kindness and respect. Or something like that.

Emma stands and fakes a smile. “I can walk you to the Mayor’s office, if you like?”

“I don’t want to keep you from your work,” Maura says nervously, seemingly appraising the large stacks of paper which Emma’s desk is absolutely covered in.

The Sheriff barks a laugh. “Trust me, you’re doing me a favour.” She shrugs on her coat again and chucks her empty coffee cup in the bin. “Let’s go.”

 

The dark-haired woman isn’t entirely sure where in the hell she is.

 _Bloody Maura,_ she thinks fiercely. _This is all Maura’s fault_.

It had all started three months ago, when her best friend had dragged her to some sort of charity conference, promising that there would be booze and interesting men. Well the conference was dull and the men all looked duller, after all, who came to a conference on graffiti in small towns out of _curiosity_? Other than Maura of course, but then Maura is a special duck.

Jane had just woken up after the keynote speech when she had noticed that Maura wasn’t berating her for her lack of attention during the speech. So she had sat up sleepily and rubbed her eyes in a comedic, melodramatic sort of way, hoping to garner a laugh or even a disapproving comment from her friend. But… nothing. So she had followed Maura’s line of vision to… two women.

Later on, Maura had told her that the name of the brunette was Regina Mills and from the dreamy look in the otherwise practical doctor’s eyes, Jane had known from the start that that woman was going to be more trouble than she was worth.

Cut ahead three months, a spontaneous announcement of sabbatical, a long search involving all of Boston PD’s cell phone-tracking resources… and Maura had driven off into the dust that morning, in search of Storybrooke, Maine and its Mayor.

And of course, though the doctor had expressly forbidden Jane from going with her, Jane had hopped into her unmarked and followed her.

All the way into the dark, mysterious depths of Maine. Something felt off about this Regina woman, how according to Maura she had _dared_ the MD to find her, and Jane’s gut was pinging like anything. She wasn’t going to let Maura spend even an _hour_ in this place by herself, let alone a two month sabbatical. No way.

_Trill. Trill._

Jane cursed and fumbled for her phone. So much for doing surveillance on the City Hall, which Maura and the woman named Emma Swan, whose cell Jane had tracked, had disappeared into five minutes previously.

“Rizzoli,” she hissed into her phone, eyes still fixated on the door of City Hall.

“JANE!” An unforgettable voice shrieked. “Where on God’s Earth are you and Maura? You missed _family lunch_ Jane!”

A sin that never would be forgiven in the Rizzoli household, Jane knew. “We had to take a little field trip for work,” she lied smoothly to her mother, knowing that Angela never wanted to know about work. Jane suspected that it wasn’t because she wasn’t interested in her or Frankie’s jobs, just that it made the panic that much more unbearable when they didn’t come home. Like now, for instance.

“Oh,” Angela said a little flatly, still disappointed. Jane could tell, even through the phone. “When will you be home?” The hopeful note in her voice was begging for a positive answer. _Tonight. In a couple of days. This weekend_.

“I don’t know how long this is going to take, Ma,” Jane answered her mother as honestly as she felt that she could. “It could be a day, it could be a few weeks.”

Just then, the blonde – Emma Swan – emerged from the building… without Maura. “Gotta go!” Jane said quickly into her phone, hung up and jammed it in her pocket. Then she jogged forward across the grass. “HEY!” She called out loudly enough to get the attention of probably most of the surrounding streets.

Emma Swan’s head snapped up and she turned to look at Jane in surprise. “Who the hell are you?”

Jane reaches for her badge, having a funny premonition that she might need it. “Boston homicide,” she shows Swan. “Who are you… and what the hell is this place?”

Swan looks at her shoes and shakes her head. “Homicide,” she mutters to herself and then, bizarrely, laughs. “Come on then. If we’re getting down to business, I’ll buy you a coffee at the diner.”

Jane doesn’t want a coffee at the diner. Jane wants answers about the place and the people who hadn’t left a trace on a single police database, or Google for that matter. But Swan has already started to walk off, so Jane has no choice but to follow. But she is clutching the holster of her gun in one hand.

 

Detective Rizzoli is pretty good at pegging people, but she definitely didn’t have juvenile-delinquent-had-a-baby-in-prison Swan to be a hot chocolate with whipped cream drinker.

“I hope the stereotype is true,” Swan attempts a laugh as she sits down in the booth opposite Jane and slides her a large mug of what is unmistakeably black coffee.

Jane takes a sip. It tastes more like Stanley’s than Boston Joe’s, but she’ll live. “Wanna start off by telling me who you are?”

The blonde eyes Jane with surprising awareness. Jane knows her by the fleeting glimpse she caught at the conference and her juvie photograph. She’s changed a lot since then, but though her face is more lined and her eyes harder, she hasn’t lost the half-smirk. “Sheriff Emma Swan,” the woman holds out a hand for Jane to shake. “Why is a homicide detective nosing around my town?”

Jane scrutinises _Sheriff_ Swan. She wears her badge with a straight spine, just like Jane does. The detective in Rizzoli relaxes, even though she knows that there is something absolutely just _not right_ about this town. Whatever it is, she feels in her gut that Emma Swan can be trusted with it.

But that doesn’t mean that Jane isn’t still going to find out what the fuck is going on in this town.

“Why is Storybrooke not on the map?” Jane asks, ignoring Emma’s question. They’ll get around to her eventually, but right now she’s not important. The only important thing is that she finds out exactly how dangerous this place and the people in it are, so she can protect Maura from it.

Emma looks into her hot chocolate, as though its luxuriously sweet depths will give her the answer to Jane’s question. “It’s a secluded place,” the blonde woman shrugs eventually. “I only stumbled across it because somebody brought me here. You could almost say…” a smile flits across Swan’s lips. “Time is frozen here.”

Jane sighs. It’s a crappy explanation, but what other explanation could there be? “I suppose that’s why your esteemed mayor doesn’t have so much as a driving license?”

Now Swan just looks uncomfortable. “Small towns?” She smiles, holding her hands out in a what-can-you-do sort of way. Then her phone buzzes loudly and she breathes an audible sound of relief, fishing it from her pocket. “Sheriff Swan,” she answers, eyes momentarily locking with Jane’s. “Yeah… oh my God. Okay, yes, I’ll be there in…” she checks her watch. “Five minutes, tops.”

She hangs up and meets the Detective’s eyes once more. “Homicide, right?” Swan enquires of her and Jane nods her head.

Swan bites her lip. “You better come with me.”

 

The scene is an ugly one. And Jane says that having been a homicide detective for five years.

She had been surprised when the Sheriff’s police cruiser had pulled into the road signposted ‘Nunnery’, and parked on the gravel outside the tall, imposing building, the only car there. But just as the two of them were getting out of the car, a second vehicle pulled up beside them.

“Chris,” Emma had growled at the man, who already had a camera over his shoulder. “This is a fucking crime scene, not a Mirror exclusive.”

Chris looked a little apologetic, but not very. “Sorry, Sheriff. The Mayor’s been on our ass ever since Sidney was fired… I can’t afford any screw-ups.”

Jane looked from him to Swan, expecting some sort of protest. After all, at all of Boston’s crime scenes, the press were kept _well_ away from any corpse, which she suspected was what they would find in the nunnery. Instead, Emma had nodded. “You stay ten metres away from the scene at all times.”

Now they were in the chapel part of the building and looking down at the body which was slumped by the altar.

The body is obviously a nun’s; she is sporting a habit, which has been ripped down the middle to the waist. Around her torso, there’s a bloody mess. Her chest has been cracked open, and the cavity there lies open for all to see. And all anybody _could_ see was the empty space. Her heart has been taken.

“What the hell?” Jane mutters, looking down at the twisted agony on the dead nun’s face.

Emma, crouched down by the body, turns her head to look at Jane and a rueful smile twists her lips. “Small towns,” she says, taking out her phone and dialling a number. “Regina? I need the town coroner’s number… yes. You’ve already heard?” She rolls her eyes. Then frowns as the Mayor keeps talking at the other end. “Oh,” Swan looks at Jane. “Your friend is _that_ kind of doctor.”

 


	3. When I Fell For You, I Skinned My Knees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maura is surprised to find that her best friend has followed her to the back of beyond. She is even more surprised when Jane and Regina immediately get into a pissing contest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Rizzoli & Isles, nor do I own Once Upon a Time and their associated characters, plots and spin-offs.  
> AN: Medical information has been sourced from Medilexicon. Also many thanks to rizzleswritingtips on tumblr, for providing me with productive procrastination. Enjoy the chapter!!

Emma Swan is almost the most interesting thing about Storybrooke, Maine, Maura thinks as they climb the stairs to the Mayor’s office. Having used Emma’s cell phone to find Storybrooke, Maura had had the opportunity to see the juvenile photograph which had been taken when she was seventeen. It’s hard to believe that such a woman would become a Sheriff of a small town. She hates to make assumptions, but somewhere deep down in her brain she sees women like Emma Swan in cities like Boston, not small towns like Storybrooke.

“Sorry about all these stairs,” Sheriff Swan twists her head back to look at Maura as they reach the top. “The lift’s been out of order for a while and no matter how many threats Regina makes…” The Sheriff suddenly trails off and her face hardens, like she’s checking herself internally. Maura is very adept at, if not reading social cues, then reading people’s faces. Her research notes are all stacked in a briefcase she brought with her. Maura likes to be prepared for every eventuality, and if her gamble with Regina Mills doesn’t pay off… well, she can always seclude herself in a B&B for the rest of her sabbatical and work on her paper.

“It’s not a problem,” Maura informs Emma, facing the other blonde with a smile. Sheriff Swan has arranged her face into a smile, but Maura can tell it’s not even remotely genuine. For some reason that Maura does not care to guess at, Emma Swan does not want her here. Indeed, Maura would even hypothesise, based on evidence, that the Sheriff dislikes her. She’s learned from admittedly limited experience that people do not form strong opinions about strangers, so Emma’s reaction to her is unexpected.

“The Mayor’s office is just through here,” Emma indicates the frosted glass of the door with her left hand. Then she noticeably hesitates. Maura smiles encouragingly, but all that achieves is the upturning of Emma’s lips, perhaps indicating disdain. “Say hello to her for me.”

And with that impromptu command, Sheriff Swan makes her hasty exit down the stairs.

Young. Attractive. Hardened. Bostonian Accent. Odd that Emma would end up being a Sheriff in a town such as this. Maura would be fascinated to know the woman’s background, but she cannot see that query being received well and besides, Emma has long-since left. And Maura is still standing just outside the Mayor’s door.

Maura would never describe herself as courageous. It took her a significant chunk of her life to get used to people, live ones that is, and she still does not really know how to conduct herself around them. But as she places one hand on the frosted glass pane and raps twice, she thinks she may have to reconsider. This is the bravest, most foolhardy experiment she’s ever had the will to partake in.

“Enter!” A familiar voice calls from within and before Maura can second guess herself, she forces her hand down on the door handle and pushes the last obstacle away.

There is a moment, however brief, where she is able to look at Regina without fear of a reciprocal glance. Back at that conference in Boston, Maura had never even had time to worry about social cues because they were only talking for a very short amount of time. Now however, they are alone together. There is great potential for humiliation here, Maura knows. Some people, in fact if she’s being honest with herself, _most_ people, were probably unlikely to welcome a long-distance visit from somebody they’d only met once.

Maura does not indulge in whimsical, colloquial habits. So she doesn’t cross her fingers for luck behind her back as Regina looks up, but for the first time, she understands the irrational desire to. She has never been so nervous in her whole life. This is principally because she doesn’t really understand nervousness. But now she knows exactly what Jane is talking about when she describes her stomach as ‘writhing’. Jane’s stomach does a lot of strange things.

But she shouldn’t have feared. When Regina looks up at her, her features break out into a smile as soon as her eyes lock upon Maura’s face. And unlike Emma’s fake smile earlier, this smile has all the indications of being genuine.

“Maura,” Regina breathes out as she says her name and although she can’t quite shake off that fear, it takes a back seat as she watches the Mayor rise from her throne. Her body language is open as she approaches the other woman, and Maura is gratified to notice Regina’s eyes flicker up and down her body. She had taken even more care than usual choosing her garments that morning (was it really that morning she had woken up in her home in Massachusetts?) but her skin still burned when Regina’s eyes ran their way down her body. It was subtle of course; Maura had known Regina was a woman of taste and formality from the beginning, but not a lot slipped past Dr Isles’ omniscient eyes.

She starts out simply enough, although she has experimented with approximately a hundred and thirty opening lines. “Hello, again.”

A tan hand trails up the side her arm, leaving _cutis anserina_ in its trail. Maura knows that somewhere in her perfectly well-proportioned brain there lies an explanation for this _(_ _contraction of the arrectores pilorum produced by cold, fear, or other stimulus, causing the follicular orifices to become prominent)_ but all she can think about is the deep brown tint of Regina’s eyes looking up at her. She has a little edge height-wise. They are both wearing heeled shoes, but Maura suspects that she has an inch or two on the other woman but – that’s not important.

“I must admit,” Regina says, cocking her head to the side. “I did anticipate Storybrooke giving you a little more of a challenge than three months.”

Her hand trails a little higher. It’s just about caressing Maura’s shoulder now.

“I can be quite resourceful,” Maura comments somewhat impassively. She suspects that there might be some sort of undercurrent to this conversation, but without analysing the combination of wording, facial expressions and body language used… Maura has no idea what it might be.

There is a sudden buzzing noise and Regina’s brow quirks in frustration. Her venturing hand slides up Maura’s neck to cup her cheek and she cannot contain the shiver of desire than runs through her. _Sensuality._ The word comes to her without warning and she has successfully identified the mysterious undercurrent. This tactile, low-voiced way of conversing is what she might describe as sensual.

“Mayor Mills,” Regina answers her phone a little like Maura does. Her thumb is moving, caressing Maura’s skin. Then all of sudden, her expression changes abruptly and her hand slides right away. “ _What?”_

Regina’s car is nearly as expensive as hers is; which is interesting considering their vastly different job titles. The other woman has not seen fit to illuminate Maura about their destination or the reason for their haste, but Maura has to assume that she is welcome in the car because of the way Regina imperiously commanded her to “come with me” when she made her exit from her office.

“How _did_ you find Storybrooke?” Regina asks tightly as she swerves down a street which looks more secluded than the previous main roads.

“I had a friend track the Sheriff’s cell phone,” Maura replies, instinctually clutching at the dashboard as the numbers on the speedometer increase. “Even my GPS didn’t recognise that there was anything but woodland here.”

“Did you kill anyone before you came to me?” Regina’s next question is so outlandish that Maura almost asks her to repeat herself. But she knows what she heard.

“No,” she answers. “I work for Boston Police Department.” It seems right to add this little fact, just to make her denial sound more legit. “Should I enquire the reason why you thought that I could be a murderer?”

Regina shoots a glance at her. Her hands are gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles have turned white. “You work for the police?” Her voice has gone up in pitch. “You said you were a doctor!”

“I’m a Medical Examiner,” Maura uses her most soothing voice, the one she used to use when she did a brief rotation in the Paediatrics department during her medical training. It had more often than not stopped the sobbing of small infants.

Regina seems to relax, or at least her body sinks a little into the soft leather car seats. “You’re in exactly the right place, then.”

They drive in silence for another minute and Maura’s hands are twisting in her blazer pockets. Using her skills as a Medical Examiner is not exactly what she had in mind when she had knocked on the Mayor’s door.

“Come to dinner tonight,” Regina suddenly requests and Maura instantly nods. She wants that so much. She wants any excuse to see the woman who had turned objectively scientific Dr Isles into a romantic. “You can meet my son.”

“You have a -” Maura’s line of questioning is cut off by Regina’s phone. Not even twenty minutes in the brunette’s company, and it is already beginning to vex her.

The Mayor does not even hesitate, pulling her cell out of her pocket and holding it to her ear. “Mayor Mills.”

Maura wants to cite at least twenty different studies that show how engaging in activities such as talking on the phone whilst driving increase the chance of a crash. But she holds herself back and instead listens as intently as she can to the phone call.

“Is this about the deceased nun, Sheriff?” Regina asks curtly, flicking her indicator on. They are about to drive down a lane which is signposted ‘nunnery’. An unusual type of victim, that’s for sure. “I’m on my way there now. And I’m bringing a Medical Examiner with me – a Dr Maura Isles.”

The Mayor listens for a second, and then hangs up as she pulls the car haphazardly into a parking space. There are already two cars there. One, Maura recognises, because she had noticed it outside the Sheriff station that morning. So Emma Swan was already at the scene.

Her heels don’t handle gravel particularly well, but Maura does her best to brush off her balance problems as she strides after Regina. The brunette woman, despite being shorter than the doctor in stature, cuts an imposing figure in her long mac and with her well-maintained hair. Maura can feel the chemicals in her brain and body going again, her stomach trembling involuntarily.

She enters the nunnery chapel only a few paces behind Regina, so she doesn’t know to whom she is talking when the Mayor suddenly and somewhat rudely demands who is standing next to Sheriff Swan.

Maura’s eyes find the new stranger and she gasps.

“ _Jane?_ ”

 

Regina whirls around, her coat flapping around her knees. “You brought a _friend?_ ”

“No!” Maura exclaims, her eyes hardening as she pins Jane with them, looking right past the Mayor. “Jane, what are you doing here?”

Jane looks guilty, at least. “Homicide duty,” she gestures very weakly at the corpse which lies just before the altar. She looks at Maura and her eyes soften a little. “I’m sorry, Maura. I just… didn’t want you to be alone.”

“Sheriff Swan!” Regina’s harsh voice cuts through Jane’s gentle appeal. “Why have you allowed a…” Maura notices the man who is taking pictures of the corpse with his camera at the same time as the mayor. "No, _two_ civilians to attend a crime scene?”

Maura dares to look at Jane and winces when she finds exactly what she expects to see in her best friend’s face. Anger.

“Excuse me, lady,” Jane pulls aside the lapel of her jacket to expose her badge to the mayor. “Boston homicide. I’m consulting on this case with Sheriff Swan here, whereas you are only the Mayor. It is not your job nor is it your responsibility to observe a crime scene being processed.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, Boston homicide,” Regina snarls right back and Maura’s eyelids flutter briefly shut. This is _not_ how she imagined the woman she finds herself falling in love with and her best friend meeting. “This is not Boston! I am the Mayor of this town, and so _everything_ within it is my responsibility. Including _you_ , Sheriff Swan!” Regina whirls around to face the blonde, who cowers a little under Regina’s overpowering gaze. “Why have you not begun?”

“If you knew anything about processing a murder, Madam Mayor,” Emma puts in her two cents. “Then you’d know that we can’t move the body until a Medical Examiner or a Coroner gives us the all clear to do so.” She strides over to Maura and hands her a pair of latex gloves, which the doctor hastily dons.

She ignores Regina and Jane, who continue to bicker in the background, as she moves over to where the nun lies on the ground. It’s a nasty one, and Maura is for a moment grateful that Detective Frost is not in attendance. He has a nasty habit of vomiting within a close radius to her crime scene, which she does not appreciate.

Maura slips back into work mode and hums as all the background noise fades away. They really should have rung the official coroner, Maura thinks as she checks for lividity. She has no thermometer with her, or any other of her tools which she carries in her briefcase. Still, that can’t be helped now, so she just has to do the best she can with what she has.

Emma crouches down beside her. “Safe to touch, Doc?” She asks, impressively cool. She can’t have dealt with that many murders before, as young as she is in a town as small as Storybrooke, but the open chest cavity and the missing heart, as well as the sheer presence of a bloody corpse, do not seem to upset her at all.

“Go ahead,” Maura nods, satisfied she has done as much as she can with the equipment to hand.

The Sheriff does a remarkably quick and efficient examination while Maura appraises her. Emma Swan is most definitely a city girl; that much is obvious from the way she talks and holds herself. But also the impervious manner in which she searches the habit and checks her neck and fingers for jewellery speaks of prior experience of dead bodies.

Seemingly having come to some sort of agreement of peace, Regina and Jane approach the two of them. Regina stands at the head of the corpse, Jane at the foot. Interested to see how the object of her affections would respond to gore, Maura sat back on her heels. Regina was just as stone-faced as Emma.

The Mayor’s voice was quiet and she spoke to Emma only, but Maura strained her ears to pick up on it as she pretended to re-examine the empty chest cavity. “We need to have a chat with Gold,” Regina murmurs. “And you need to lose Boston homicide first.”

Out of the corner of the eye and wrist-deep in the nun, Maura sees Emma give an almost imperceptible nod. Who is Gold, she wonders?

“Is the body safe to remove, Dr Isles?” Emma asks, her voice overly loud.

“I would say so, Sheriff,” Maura strips off her gloves. “I would like to conduct the autopsy, if your coroner is amicable.”

Emma’s brow furrowed as she looked over at Regina. “Who the hell is the town coroner anyway?”

“Whale,” Regina answers shortly as she stands and turns to look at Maura. “Where are you staying, Doctor?”

Maura laughs ruefully. “There wasn’t exactly a Tripadvisor page for me to book accommodation on,” she admits. “Is there a B&B around here?”

“Don’t be silly,” Regina’s mouth curves into a smile, but it isn’t as genuine and just for _Maura_ as it was before. “I have a guest room for you, if you would like.” The invitation excludes Jane, Maura notices. She also observes Regina glance briefly at Emma, whose mouth is tight and unhappy.

“Granny’s B&B is down Main Street,” the Sheriff offers without looking up.

Maura looks at Jane, which makes up her mind. “Thank you for the offer, but I wouldn’t want to put you out,” she excuses herself to Regina. “I will take you up on dinner though,” she says to soften the rejection, laying a hand on the Mayor’s arm. She _does_ want to spend time with Regina, it is after all the reason why she is here.

But Jane’s arrival has complicated things, which she resents. She does want to keep her best friend happy and more than that, it would be nice not to be completely alone in this very strange, isolated town.

Emma has already moved away from the body and is on her phone. If Maura were to hazard a guess, she would say she was talking to Whale, the coroner, trying to convince him to let the Medical Examiner from out of town do the autopsy.

“7pm sharp,” Regina tells her, before clicking away out of the building.

“Nice, friendly town,” Jane comments wryly to her and Maura turns to smile at her. She’s quite sure that there was a lot of room for social humiliation today, and she is glad that she has managed to maintain both her dinner invitation and Jane’s friendship. “Welcome to Storybrooke, huh?” She lets out her long, low chuckle as they both look back down at the dead body.

 


	4. My Mistakes Are My Only Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maura indulges in some of Regina’s lasagna while Emma is surprised to find somebody in a similar predicament to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Rizzoli & Isles, nor do I own Once Upon a Time and their associated characters, plots and spin-offs.
> 
> AN: Please excuse my British oversights. Also unbetaed, so any mistakes belong to me. Title pun unintended ;)

 

Maura pulls up outside 108 Mifflin Street at least ten minutes earlier than she is due. The sun is just beginning to set over Storybrooke, the tip of the clock tower caressing the bloody belly of the star in the sky.

Being a scientist, and more importantly, a doctor, Maura knows that it is impossible to die of nerves unless you have a pre-existing heart condition. But as her white-knuckled hands flex over the steering wheel, she hypothesises that perhaps she _is_ suffering from such a condition; her heart will not stop pounding loudly in her ears and her palms are slick with sweat.

She pulls her compact mirror out of her purse and checks her hair, her make-up and how calm she can make her expression appear to be. She has just fished out her eyeliner to correct a minor smudge when a rap on the window nearly makes her poke her eye out.

Maura, after taking half a second to collect herself once again, rolls down the window to be confronted with the aggressive visage of Emma Swan.

“What are you doing here?” The not-so-kindly Sheriff demands of her, both elbows leaning on the side of her car. “Aren’t you supposed to be staying at Granny’s?”

Maura frowns at the other woman, placing all of her possessions back in her bag and getting out of the car, forcing Emma to step back. “I’m a dinner guest of the Mayor’s tonight,” she bites back. “What are _you_ doing here?”

She doesn’t mean the question to come out of her mouth with quite so much concealed hostility, but it does and she immediately regrets it. Emma, despite being off-hand and withdrawn, has done nothing to justify that sort of treatment. She is a professional, after all, and worthy of respect if her display at the nunnery that afternoon was any indication.

“I’m sorry,” Maura retracts her question before Emma can give her an equally nasty answer. “I don’t mean to be so rude. This is, of course, your town. You have every right to question my movements if you suspect me of some sort of wrongdoing.”

Emma’s features soften a little and Maura smiles. Her manners are inexcusable, but Emma seems a sort of reluctantly forgiving type. Hopefully she’ll let Maura’s slip pass uncommented on. “I don’t,” the Sheriff replies. “But it’s my job to move loiterers along while I’m on patrol, Doctor.”

“Right,” Maura nods, locking her car. “It’s acceptable to leave my car parked here?”

“It’s fine,” Emma nods, thumbs hooked in the back pockets of her jeans as she meanders back to the police car. “Enjoy your evening, Dr Isles.”

As she finds the handle on the gate to the Mills’ residence, Maura feels an odd sense of gratitude towards Emma Swan. She might be uncouth and aggressive, but she’s managed to get Maura out of the car and walking down the garden path. Otherwise she might have sat in the car all night, bracing herself to get out and knock on the door.

It’s only dinner.

But as Maura raps hesitantly on the large white door, she knows instinctually that it’s more than that. After Regina had mentioned her son again, Maura had remembered what the Mayor had dropped into conversation the first time that they had met. That Emma is _of some significance to her son_. She should have remembered both of those details.

Maura casts a reflexive glance back over her shoulder, but the cruiser is long gone. Perhaps tonight she will find out exactly what that significance is.

The door swings open before her, and Maura can’t help the smile that lights up her face as she takes in Regina, who looks splendiferous in a navy blue sheath dress. The doctor’s fashion-conscious eye takes in each ripple of fabric which clings to the Mayor’s form without being indecent. Finally her wandering gaze falls on Regina’s feet, which are bare. This tiny sign of vulnerability, of comfort, makes Maura’s smile even bigger, if that is anatomically possible.

She feels like Regina trusts her enough to be open with her. Or at least enough to have dinner with her feet bare.

“Come in,” the other woman invites, holding the door open wider. Maura thinks she hears a note of amusement in Regina’s voice and looks back into her eyes to see that the Mayor has followed her little trek down the woman’s body.

Feeling a little embarrassed and yet unapologetic, Maura steps across the threshold and begins to unbutton her coat. She is just about to shrug it off her shoulders when there is a tap on her upper arm. Maura turns to see a boy of maybe eleven or twelve years, smiling in a mild sort of way up at her. She is taller, but if she takes off her heels she has a feeling that she will only top him by a couple of inches.

“Can I take your coat, please?” The boy asks and once again she smiles. It’s like the joy in her heart at being so welcomed into Regina’s home won’t accept anything other than to be displayed all over her face. “I’m Henry.”

“Nice to meet you, Henry,” Maura crouches a little, slipping her coat off so he can take it. “I’m Maura. Maura Isles.”

“I’m just going to check on dinner,” Regina interrupts. “You two should take your seats. Henry, why don’t you show Maura to her place?”

Maura turns to her junior host just in time to see him make a subtle thumbs-up sign at his mother. They both blush a little as Maura catches his eye, but Henry smoothly recovers and walks her into the dining room, pulling out her chair like a perfect little gentleman. “I’m glad you’re here,” the boy whispers to her, almost too quiet for her to hear, let alone Regina in the kitchen.

It’s an odd statement and the Doctor finds herself turning it over and over in her mind as Regina bustles into the dining room, laden with an enormous baking dish of lasagna.

 

“Another?”

This is why Emma likes Red more than a lot of Storybrooke’s other occupants. She’s a lot less _righteous_. Storybrooke sometimes feels like it can be split straight down the middle, into heroic citizens and villainous occupants. Red is a nice middle ground between the two; she’s as human as Emma is.

And, as Emma lifts tired eyes and nods once in answer to the question, she knows that Red is not judging her. Red knows about Regina and about Maura, and understands why all the company Emma wants is alcohol.

There is movement next to her but Emma resents the effort it would take to lift her head and see who has sat down beside her, so she keeps her head nestled between her arms until she hears… “You got any Sam Adams?”

That low, raspy voice, she knows it. She lifts her head with a wince and looks into the understanding eyes of Jane Rizzoli.

“Settling in for the night?” Jane asks her with one eyebrow raised. Emma knows what she must look like, already several sheets to the wind. At least she’s not on duty.

“Long day,” Emma croaks in reply, sitting back in her chair and guzzling on the beer which Red has just set down in front of her. “You alone?” She asks, realising that the only other person in the diner is Grumpy, who sits way down at the other end.

“Yeah,” Jane replies, receiving a beer of her own and swivelling around in her bar stool to face the drunken Sheriff. “Maura’s having dinner at _Regina’s_ tonight.”

It’s hard to hold back a laugh, as Emma hears and recognises the bitterness in Jane’s voice. She wonders if the homicide Detective is even aware of how it sounds to other people. “I know,” is all Emma sees fit to reply with. She doesn’t really want to talk about Maura, and much less about Regina. All Emma wants is for Jane and Maura to leave Storybrooke and let Emma get on with the life that she fucked up.

Jane saves her by changing the topic. “So how the hell did you end up here Swan? I’ve seen your record, after all.”

“Why have you seen my record?” Emma frowns up at Jane. Somehow her head has landed back on her crossed arms.

Jane shrugs, guzzling down a little more beer. “You were the only Storybrooke occupant we could find with a paper trail. Although officially you don’t even have an address anymore.”

If there is one worse topic than Maura and Regina’s budding little romance, it is Storybrooke and _why_ it does not appear to exist, except that it does. And Emma is definitely not in a good position to make up stories and half-truths and diversions to distract Jane from the fact that Storybrooke is a magical town of fairytale characters.

So instead, she says something that Emma knows will totally distract Jane from going down any dangerous paths. “So exactly _how_ long have you been in love with Maura then, Detective?”

It works exactly as expected, Jane’s eyes narrow and flash a little in anger. Oh yes, Emma has hit the nail on the head and driven it in right where it hurts. There is no doubt now, as if Jane hasn’t been demonstrating it from the second she drove into town after Maura. The Detective is blindly in love with the Doctor. The only question is whether she knows it or not.

“Maura and I aren’t a couple,” Jane denies firmly, swigging back more beer. “So butt the hell out, Swan and get back to the point –“

“That wasn’t what I asked,” Emma points out, still trying to keep Jane off-topic. “I never said anything about the two of you dating. I just asked how long you’ve been in love with her.”

“I’m not in love with her!” Jane hisses, getting right into Emma’s personal space and looking pissed. “I didn’t even know she liked women until your fucking Mayor waltzed into her life a few months ago.”

Emma lets out a bark of laughter. “She’s not _my_ mayor,” Emma refutes the brunette’s statement; then immediately regrets it. She’s just given Jane the exact ammunition she needs to turn everything back around on Emma. _Shit_.

Jane’s eyes meet hers and they are triumphant. “Not _your_ mayor, huh? Sounds like you know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I do,” Emma snarls back at her, leaning forward herself until the two of them are within spitting distance. “And you know what? I think I’m right on the money with you.”

And though it’s childish, she lets her eyes flicker down to Jane’s lips and smirks.

It’s comical how quickly Jane realises that she’s been cornered into a potentially compromising situation. She leaps backwards, almost falling off her chair. Emma laughs and laughs until she finds that she is crying and her head lands back in her arms as sobs wrack her body. She’s too fucking drunk to think straight.

“Emma, honey,” somebody taps her on the shoulder and she lifts her eyes to see Red smiling sympathetically down at her. “Give me your keys; I’ll walk you home.”

Wiping tried tear tracks off her face, Emma nods wearily. As she slowly gets off the bar stool, steadying herself on the counter, she notices that Jane is gone. Probably long gone. _Good_ , Emma thinks viciously. _Maybe I scared her right out of town._

 

“That was fantastic,” Maura comments as she perches primly on the leather sofa in Regina’s fire-warmed study. She has had just enough wine over dinner to be feeling toasty inside and her gaze is a little more shameless than usual as she flicks her eyes over Regina’s body as the woman pours them cider from the decanter. “Where did you learn to cook like that?”

“Trial and error,” Regina laughs, handing Maura a glass. Their fingers brush very briefly as Maura grasps its heavy base. Maura was warm from the wine and the fire, but the touch lights a whole other sort of fire. One which settles much lower down in her body.

Regina settles next to her and puts her feet up. She looks a lot smaller than Maura would expect, being so imposing when standing. But curled up around her cider glass, Regina looks almost… cute. It’s not a word Maura associates with the woman she feels strongly for, but it isn’t an unpleasant surprise to find that Regina can be cute and sexy in equal measures.

“Lasagna was Henry’s favourite meal as a child,” Regina explains in her honeyed voice. “In fact, it was the _only_ meal he would eat for a few months.”

“Henry’s a great child,” Maura seizes the obvious segue. “You’ve raised him to be a perfect gentleman.” She hesitates before asking the thing she wants to the most. She knows in some situations it is not socially acceptable to ask, but she _really_ wants to know. “Is his father still around?”

Regina does not seem offended by her question, which comes as a great relief to the doctor. “He’s never been around,” the Mayor explains, sipping at her cider. “I adopted Henry when he was only a few weeks old.”

“Oh,” Maura says in surprise. It wasn’t the answer that she had been expecting, but still a welcome one. “I’m adopted, myself.”

“Did you ever –“ Regina begins and Maura cuts off the question before she even finishes, knowing exactly what it will be.

“Find my biological parents? Yes, and I wish I hadn’t. They’ve both made my life a living nightmare ever since,” Maura explains, not without some vehemence. “I can deter Henry from making the same error, if you’d like?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Regina dismisses and the brush-off is obvious. Maura tries not to wince. Another social cue read wrongly. “Henry has no desire to make contact with his birth parents.”

Maura frowns at this. It’s not that she doesn’t believe Regina, but she _does_ think that Henry has been lying to his mother. She has never known, and doubts that she will ever know an adopted child who doesn’t want to at least know who his biological parents are. It’s only natural.

The tension in the air is a little palpable and Maura hates it. She slips her feet out of her uncomfortable heels and tucks them under, relaxing back into Regina’s incredibly comfortable sofa. With every deep inhale and exhale, Maura can feel that tension dissipating and when she looks back across at her companion for the evening, Regina seems more relaxed.

“So,” Maura begins. “I know that you are the Mayor. Of Storybrooke, Maine. And you have a son named Henry. And your lasagna is fantastic. Tell me something else about yourself.”

Regina pauses for a moment, as though thinking of something intently. “I have never…” she begins. “Been so interested in somebody that I drove across two state borders to seek them out.”

Maura laughs openly, not bothering to conceal her mirth as she reaches across the sofa to poke Regina’s arm. They lock eyes and the laughter fades as a new type of tension overtakes them. Slowly, Maura reaches across to the coffee table and sets her glass down without taking her eyes off Regina.

Then she leans in, past acceptable social limits, past personal space and hesitates perhaps a square inch from Regina’s lips. “Oh, come here,” Regina commands, her hand knotting into Maura’s golden blonde waves as she pulls their mouths together.

 

Granny’s is silent, and Maura does her best not to make too much noise as she creeps up the stairs. But they are old and wooden, and it feels like every step she takes creaks loudly enough to wake the dead. A horrific turn of phrase really, but it suits the volume of the noise which Maura is currently making.

She slips her large, iron key into the lock on her room and twists it. The tumblers fall into place with a click. The doctor pushes the door open and winces when it almost _wails_ , but exhales as she finally shuts it behind her and switches on the light.

“Hey!” Jane proclaims in outrage from where she lies on Maura’s bed. “I was sleeping!”

“Jane,” Maura hisses as she kicks her shoes off of her feet and strides angrily over to her bed. She may not be the best social expert in the world, but even she knows that falling asleep on your best friend’s bed when _you have a perfectly acceptable bed next door_ is simply not appropriate. "What the hell are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” Jane’s brow furrows, like the answer should be obvious to Maura. “Wanted to make sure that… everything went okay.”

Maura watches her best friend with hard eyes as the Detective flops back on her bed, maybe making herself comfortable again to go back to sleep. Normally, Maura wouldn’t have a problem with sleeping next to Jane. Normally, she feels more comfortable that way anyhow. But she has just come back from a date and she’s _tired_ as hell and this one might be serious and they’re staying in a B &B in a strange town, for crying out loud. She wants to be alone tonight.

Jane must see a little of this in her face, or perhaps in the way she hasn’t moved an inch from where she stands by the door, because she sits up again. “Maura? Is everything okay?”

“I’d like you to leave, please Jane,” Maura says as politely as she possibly can because Jane _is_ her best friend and even though the other woman followed her to Storybrooke without her permission, she still wants her to stay here. “Just for tonight. But I’ll see you for breakfast, tomorrow?”

Jane looks angry as she gets up off the bed and grabs her coat. “Yeah, whatever, Maura. Sleep well.”

The doctor exhales as the door almost slams behind her. If there was anybody still asleep in the B&B before, there will definitely not be now. She makes a mental note to find the landlady in the morning and offer her apologies. But for now she makes her way to the bathroom and starts to meticulously remove her make-up.

Despite the oddness of Jane’s actions tonight, she has enjoyed her first day in Storybrooke very much. Regina is everything she remembered and better than she imagined when the memories weren’t enough. Her son is delightful, too. There is even potential bonding material there, seeing as they are both adopted.

But Maura senses that Storybrooke is not a town of all airs and graces and ‘good morning’s. There is an undercurrent here. There is a reason why there is no paper trail, no map which includes the town. And even more interestingly, there is a reason why a _nun_ of all people has been murdered so brutally.

Maura looks forward to decoding those secrets almost as much as she looks forward to decoding the secrets of one Regina Mills. 


	5. I Don't Believe In Fairytales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to some mischievous pixies, Jane and Maura realise that there is more to Storybrooke than they had initially thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Rizzoli & Isles, nor do I own Once Upon a Time and their associated characters, plots and spin-offs.
> 
> AN: Please excuse my British oversights. Also unbetaed, so any mistakes belong to me. I hope you enjoy this chapter, which is the longest so far! Five down, seven to go!

 

Maura hadn’t planned to be awake so early but she finds herself lying in bed, the sun just coming up through her window. Her sleep cycle is not as regular as she would prefer anyway, too many nocturnal summonses to crime scenes, and her early bird tendencies are working against her now. Deciding not to waste time, she slips out from under the duvet, stopping for a moment to quickly and efficiently make her bed, then locates her yoga mat from her bag.

She may as well make use of the hours she has to herself. That is the purpose of a sabbatical, after all.

Time, as always, passes quickly when she’s in such a deep state of relaxation, so Maura is surprised when there is a knock on the door. She sits up far too abruptly from her child’s pose and winces at the head rush, making her way to the door with her right hand clutching the back of her head.

“Hi,” says the woman on the other side, holding a basket of apples in her arms.

“Morning,” Maura replies, taking in the vision before her. Regina is, as always, put-together and gorgeous. “May I?” She enquires, before delicately plucking an apple off the top of the heap in the basket and biting into it with a crunch.

Regina laughs at her, but it isn’t malicious like when the girls at boarding school used to snigger and use her less-than-polite nickname. It’s… affectionate. It’s almost reminiscent of Jane. “Only if I can come in,” she tells Maura, inching her way past the doctor and setting the apples down on the side. “Granny, the woman who runs this inn, uses my apples to make all her pies. I make a weekly delivery, and thought I’d stop by to see you.” Regina looks a little nervous at her admission, the tip of her tongue darting up to briefly touch her cupid’s bow.

Carefully setting down her half-eaten apple on the doily-covered surface, Maura crosses the room and slips one hand into Regina’s hair while cradling her cheek with the other. “You don’t need an excuse to see me,” Maura tells her, before capturing dark lips with her own soft pink pair.

Kissing Regina Mills is a different experience for Maura. She has kissed plenty of people in her time, a mixture of genders and abilities. She’s loathe to admit that it had been in search of the so-called spark that some romantics had reported to experience, but despite her scientific cynicism Maura has often dreamt of such an intimate connection.

Now, as her lips brush over Regina’s, she feels like she may be on the verge of comprehension.

Just the meeting of flesh on flesh is more erotic to Maura than it has ever been before, as the kiss heats and she finds herself grazing her tongue over Regina’s lower lip. What was a fusion of flesh becomes a melding of mouths and somebody sighs as Regina sucks on Maura’s tongue.

As a doctor, Maura knows that none of her nerve endings have stopped working spontaneously. Therefore it’s a mystery as to why she doesn’t feel the Mayor’s hands on her hips until they slide upwards, bunching the material of her t-shirt. “May I?” Regina asks, courteous even when her voice is a little breathless. Maura just nods in reply and her stomach muscles automatically clench when the fabric moves over them. The shirt obstructs her view for a second, but then it falls to the floor, forgotten, leaving Maura in just her unflattering black sports bra in front of Regina.

Of course, it is only in the interest of fairness that she seizes the other woman’s lips with hers once again and slyly brings her fingers up to undo the buttons of the Mayor’s shirt. She works them apart one by one and when she has finished the somewhat arduous task, she brings her hands back up to push the silk off Regina’s shoulders.

She breaks away from the kiss and Maura experiences a brief moment of terror before she realises that Regina is somewhat greedily drinking in the sight of her body. Maura isn’t humble, nor is she particularly vain, so she knows objectively that she is quite attractive. Still, she’s rarely had anyone over the age of thirty look at her in such a _hungry_ fashion.

It’s rather arousing, to say the least.

Regina draws her up, back into her embrace and her fingers smoothly find Maura’s bra clasp. The doctor inhales sharply as the hooks detach –

There is a scream.

It comes from neither of them.

“Jane,” Maura breathes, eyes darting towards the door, which is closed. She rationally realises that Jane wouldn’t scream, nor if she did would it be that high-pitched. But she and Regina are here and Jane is the only other person she cares about in this town.

“No,” Regina shakes her head, pointing towards the window which Maura had opened to air out her room. “Down in the street.”

Maura grabs her shirt from her chair and pulls it over her head, making towards the door until Regina lays a hand on her arm. “I want you to stay here,” the Mayor urges, her shirt already re-buttoned perfectly like Maura had never touched it.

“You’re going out there?” Maura checks, feeling almost teenage in her obstinacy.

“Yes,” Regina admits reluctantly. “But-“

“Then I’m coming too,” she declares stubbornly and fixes the Mayor with the flintiest gaze she has. If Regina’s going, and Jane will already be out there certainly, then Maura won’t stay in this little B&B and wait.

Regina sighs and rolls her eyes. “Fine!” She betrays a little bit of her cool demeanour, yanking the door open. “But if I perceive the danger to be too great for you, then you _will_ come back in here under the protection of Widow Lucas and Red, alright?”

She strides out before Maura can ask who those people are and why exactly Regina thinks she can order the doctor around. But then something else about Regina’s offensive statement registers. If _she perceives the danger to be too great_.

What does that even mean?

 

 

Emma is so unbelievably stressed.

“I need a fucking vacation,” she growls to her father as they interlock arms. “And there is no way in _hell_ that this is going to work.”

The pixies which have been trying to leech off the fairies’ magic must have finally lost patience doing it remotely, because they’ve breached Storybrooke’s high street and are _all over the damn place._ Emma called her dad and Granny and almost anyone else she could think of. She even grudgingly called Red and asked her to send a summonses to Regina. In all likelihood, the Mayor has simply blocked Emma’s personal number from her phone.

Now they were all linking arms to herd the pixies into a group. Where they would go from there, Emma had no idea. But it was a plan; after ten minutes of fruitlessly chasing the pixies all over the place.

“Have faith,” Charming says in that particularly irritating tone of his.

“Fuck that –“

“Language, Sheriff,” a voice behind her says in clipped tones. Then it pauses. “What the hell?”

Emma turns to see Regina, whose expression is one of panic, and then just behind her… Maura Isles. The doctor. From Boston. Somebody who hadn’t been introduced to Storybrooke’s secrets just yet. Well, this was about as abrupt as it got.

“Are you attempting to round up these pixies like sheepdog, Sheriff?” Regina says sharply and Emma refocuses her attention on the Mayor, deciding to deal with the outsiders later. The cop could present a problem but it doesn’t look like she’s at the scene so…

“MAURA!” Comes a yell from across the street where an equally terrified and furious Jane Rizzoli stands, holding a plastic bag emblazoned with the words ‘Dark Star Pharmacy’. The wind blows her hair up around her face and Emma is surprised to feel a tiny shudder going through her body. Which then immediately dissipates as a tiny green pixie lets out a cackle and leaps up to grab Rizzoli’s face, bowling her over.

Dr Isles screams somewhere, but Emma has already broken the line of pixie-herders to run towards the woman who has gone down.

But much like Emma when she first came to town and had to deal with everything from Graham’s mysterious conviction that he was quite literally heartless to Henry getting stuck down a collapsing mine shaft, Jane looks like she is adapting. She is fighting the little green pixie quite admirably as the two wrestle on the ground and eventually throws it off. Rizzoli is now, however, sporting a long thin line of blood on her right cheek.

“You okay, Rizzoli?” Emma offers her a hand up, which Jane, seemingly in shock, takes.

“What the _fuck_ was that, Swan?” Is all the Detective asks her, eyes fixated on the jeering group of creatures that are still being ineffectually contained by a random mixture of Storybrooke citizens.

Emma is genuinely lost for words. She’s never been the one that has had to explain Storybrooke to a stranger before. She usually _is_ the dumb outsider who knows nothing about the world she had accidentally stumbled across.

“You help me round up these little beasts, and I’ll tell you and your friend everything,” Emma offers with a grunt. _Bloody_ Regina. Their little piece of the universe is precarious enough as it is without two more outsiders knowing everything. And one of them is a cop, if it wasn’t bad enough already. Emma wouldn’t put it past Rizzoli to drive straight back to Boston and tip off the FBI that there was a town of fucking _fairytale_ characters in Maine.

But as the unfortunate Sheriff of the town, Emma has the unenviable job of convincing her not to do that.

But first things first. Emma leads Rizzoli back over to Regina, who looks like she is about to lose all patience with the lot of them. At least her doctor friend is looking a little calmer, in fact a little too calm for Emma’s taste. The look in Isles’ eyes is more… curious, than anything else.

“Why are we wasting time while your dear daddy shows off muscle power?” Regina yells at Emma almost as soon as Emma is in earshot. “If you’d have just _called_ me, Sheriff, this business would be done by now.”

“I would have done,” Emma bites right back. “If I thought you’d take my call.”

It seems the Mayor has no witty comeback, because she exhales and breaks eye contact with the Sheriff. For Emma, this is as good as admitting that she’s probably right. Regina wouldn’t have taken her call.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Rizzoli’s deep, rough voice breaks the ice forming between them. Emma looks at her, her hand resting on her hip where a gun would probably be normally. “But you’ve got bigger problems than who wouldn’t call who.”

Emma wheels around to find that she is right. The pixies have begun to spit at the assembled masses and even Charming is starting to look panicked. Emma briefly turns back around to Regina. “Pixies are impervious to your –“ She cuts herself off before she says ‘magic’, remembering the presence of Rizzoli and the doctor.

Thankfully, Regina seems to understand what she is saying. “Yes,” she gives Emma an approving look. “I might be able to net them, but they’re fast as hell and I won’t get them all in one go.”

Emma can, unfortunately, see only one solution. “We’ll have to catch them then.”

Chaos ensues the moment she utters the word ‘catch’, the pixies reacting to it like lighter fluid on a bonfire. Emma is momentarily grateful that they can’t take flight, but that gratitude doesn’t last very long as she discovers what ‘fast as hell’ truly means.

It really doesn’t help that she can _hear_ Regina laughing in the background as Emma falls on her face for the third time, another one slipping through her fingers.

“Sheriff!” Someone calls from a little way beyond, and Emma lifts an exhausted head. “Do you think this might help?”

Isles stands behind Regina, who is casually shielding her with her arms. Emma feels a bite right to her stomach as she registers the protectiveness in the gesture. Isles holds aloft a handful of grit, won from the communal barrel that lives by the Dark Star Pharmacy. “I remember reading once that fey are affected by sodium chloride.”

Emma straightens up, panting. “Try it,” she urges, out of breath. The kind of life she leads, she really needs to be hitting the gym more often.

Regina reluctantly detaches herself from the doctor, but takes her hand as they step forward. The pixie that Emma had just been chasing comes rushing up to them, cackling hideously. Emma can almost see Regina keep a handle on her urge to send a fireball right into its face. But she does resist, and instead Isles throws the salt in its face.

The pixie lets out a long, high-pitched screech. Then falls to the floor.

“You _killed_ it?” Emma says, her voice a pitch higher than usual. Not that she particularly cares for the creatures, but Regina makes her do paperwork for _days_ when something dies on her watch.

Isles, suddenly becoming a competent professional and releasing the Mayor’s hand, crouches down and brushes the dead pixie’s forest green throat. “It’s alive,” she says, almost in surprise. “Strong pulse. I think it just suffered a syncopal episode.”

 “English, Maura,” Rizzoli’s voice breathes, even lower than usual with strain. Emma looks around to see the Detective’s face, now heavily streaked with blood and dirt.

“It fainted,” Isles explains, then looks up and gasps at the state of Rizzoli’s appearance. “Jane!”

But Emma doesn’t really care about either of the outsiders, so turns to Regina, who has a hand resting very lightly on Isles’ back. Emma doesn’t know what has caused such intimacy between the two of them so quickly and doesn’t think that she wants to.

“Can you douse all the pixies in salt?” She asks quietly, while the doctor is examining Rizzoli’s face.

Regina does not answer, but waves her hand and Emma notices the grit bin quiver out of the corner of her eye. Then slowly, it rotates on to its side and moves over the scene, sprinkling all of the pixies with sodium chloride.

Emma knows that Regina is more than proficient, so her biggest problem becomes Rizzoli and Dr Isles, who now know that Storybrooke is definitely not your average town in Maine. They are watching the spectacle of the grit bin floating over the pixies seemingly of its own accord. Well, Rizzoli is watching that. The doctor is staring at Regina’s hand, which is guiding the bin along. Emma can almost see her putting two and two together in her head. But the real question is if she’s adding them up to make four, or something higher.

 

“So,” Emma concludes. “That’s why things are… weird, here.”

There is a silence. She and Regina sit on one side of the interrogation table while Maura and Rizzoli occupy the other.

Regina’s arms are tightly folded across her chest; she had the most to lose here, out of all of them. Emma has just told the two Bostonians that she was the _Evil Queen_ for crying out loud.

“And we’re supposed to believe this?” Rizzoli says suddenly, breaking the silence. “That is the most _pathetic_ bullshit I’ve ever heard.”

Emma sighs. She’d be lying if she said that she wasn’t expecting this reaction. But she had hoped that further demonstration wouldn’t be necessary. “Regina,” she appealed, a note of whine in her voice as she turned in her seat to beg the other woman with her eyes.

The Mayor sighs. Her arms loosen a little. “Don’t panic,” she appeals to the blonde doctor, her voice softer than Emma has ever heard it before. Then she rubs her palms together. And blows.

Of course, Emma has no idea what magic Regina’s about to perform. She just knows how dangerous it is for Regina to dip her toe back in those waters. The very last thing they all need right now is for the Mayor to relapse back into the Evil Queen.

 _Miaow_. That’s the first clue Emma gets. Then a purr. Then with a poof, a jet black cat appears on the table.

There is immediately a crash as Rizzoli throws her chair backwards and collides with the wall. Emma herself thinks she might have let out a bit of a gasp. But Dr Isles, calmer and cooler than them all, merely leans forward in her seat and strokes the cat’s ears. _She really must have been prepared for anything_ , Emma thinks to herself.

Rizzoli picks herself up off the floor and points to the cat with a trembling hand. “What the _hell_ was that?”

Regina, who never seems to understand when a snarky remark is just inappropriate, snorts. “Magic, Boston Homicide.”

“Everybody out.” Rizzoli says brusquely, giving Regina a glare. “I want to talk to Swan.”

Regina rolls her eyes and pushes back her chair, striding out the door with her heels clacking. Maura does not move.

Rizzoli’s voice becomes softer as she talks to the doctor, Emma notices. “Alone, please Maura.” Rizzoli repeats. “And take the bloody _feline_ with you.”

Isles, looking hurt as hell, gathers the cat up in her arms and leaves. Emma thinks she sees a tear escape one of her eyes, but she must have been mistaken. Would anybody really cry over being ordered out by their best friend?

The Boston Detective sits back down in Maura’s seat, her own still lying on the floor. “Is she a… _witch_?” Rizzoli demands of Emma, getting right down to the point.

“Regina?” Emma double checks. “I… don’t know.”

“A magician?” Rizzoli presses on. “A sorceress? A fucking illusionist?”

Emma shakes her head and puts it in her hands. She doesn’t know how to answer Rizzoli’s bullet-like questions. They’re fast and probing and she has no more explanations to give. “She can do magic…” Emma explains hesitantly. “Because a man named Rum – Mr Gold brought magic to this town. There was never any magic here originally.”

Rizzoli runs a hand through her hair. “Can you do magic?” She demands. “Can everybody?”

“No,” Emma shakes her head. “I can do a little, but magic is genetic, I _think._ Regina’s never had the patience to sit down and explain it to me.”

“So who exactly _can_ do it?” Rizzoli demands and Emma half expects her to ask for a piece of paper to write the names down.

“Regina, me,” Emma ticked off her fingers. “Mr Gold. The nuns. Jefferson. But magical objects can be used by anyone, I think.”

“Magical _objects_?”

“Yeah,” Emma shrugs. “Don’t worry, this took me a very long time to get used to. But I did, and you will too.”

Rizzoli groans. “One last question before I go.” Emma nods. “Am I free to leave with Maura?”

Emma turns. She doesn’t want to lie to Rizzoli, but if she tells the truth, it’ll chase her right out of town and that’s the last thing that she wants. “Yes,” she decides on. “But good luck getting Maura to leave with you.”

 

Regina had been loath to leave Maura alone after the revelations which she had been subjected to.

The car had been almost silent on the way to Granny’s, the only sounds coming from the hastily-named Macavity, the black cat which Regina had conjured. Several times, the former Evil Queen had opened her mouth to speak, only to uncharacteristically lose her nerve and continue driving. She had been surprised to find that Maura _mattered,_ her opinion was important like nobody but Henry’s had been in a long time.

When Regina had pulled up at Granny’s front curb, she didn’t know what to expect. Maura had been able to stomach being driven back by her. Would she want to leave Storybrooke immediately? Would she want long, tedious explanations and stories? Would she want justification for each and every one of Regina’s sins?

Instead, Maura had leaned over the centre console and kissed her briefly on the mouth. “Call me tonight,” she had said, before clambering out of the car and disappearing into the B&B.

Now Regina sits in her kitchen. She had made muffins when she had arrived back home, just for something to do. They smell delicious, but she cannot enjoy it even as she picks one apart into little pieces. She is staring at her cell, open to Maura’s contact. She wants so badly to press the call button, but is terrified that the kiss in the car was merely the doctor’s unique way of saying ‘goodbye, this is all way too freaky for me’.

She reaches out and picks up the cell. Why the hell is she so pathetic over this woman? Why does one person’s opinion matter so goddamned much?

Regina is saved from further introspection when there is a loud, persistent banging on the door. The Mayor winces. There is only one person in town who would dare to disrespect her property so ferociously. Actually two, she amends herself. Ever since Detective Rizzoli had swaggered into town behind Maura, their personalities have clashed quite dramatically.

But she doesn’t think her visitor will be Jane. Not today. When Jane is still processing her fear.

She’s right.

“ _Sheriff_ Swan,” she greets Emma with something resembling scorn. “How can I help you?”

“Can I come in?” Emma phrases it like a question, but it’s really more of a demand.

Regina does not answer the question, but steps out on to the porch, shutting her front door behind her. It is as close to a ‘no’ as she can give Emma. “What do you _want_?” Regina emphasises, keen to get this conversation over with as quickly as possible.

“Why do you have to be so damned hostile?” Emma wants to know, hand on her hip, over her badge, her symbol of power. Perhaps it makes her feel more in control. Well, the longer the Sheriff lingers on her porch, the more helpless Regina feels, so perhaps it is working after all.

“Emma, please,” Regina appeals to her, feeling vulnerable. “Say what you came to say, then leave.”

“Okay,” Emma agrees. “We need to get rid of Rizzoli and Maura. Is there any way you can wipe their memories of their time here?”

Rationally, Regina knows that the outcome that Emma is imagining is the only realistic one. The one where Maura and Detective Rizzoli, unable to remember the events that happened to them in Storybrooke, drive back to Boston none the wiser. But her heart almost hurts at the thought of Maura continuing with no memory of her.

“It’s possible,” Regina eventually admits. “But Emma –“

“Don’t Emma me,” the Sheriff holds up her hand. “I know you know that this is the only outcome where everyone is happy. Rizzoli and Dr Isles have their own lives back in Boston. And we can’t run the risk of them telling people about Storybrooke.”

“You don’t think Maura will want to stay here with me?” Regina challenges, but in reality she knows what the answer will be.

“She can’t have you without giving up everything else,” Emma shrugs. “She’s only _really_ known you for a couple of days. What makes you think that she would sacrifice that much?”

“For me?” Regina completes the unsaid end of Emma’s sentence. “Just because _you_ didn’t –“ and then she claps a hand over her mouth. She hadn’t meant to bring that up.

Emma shakes her head and looks at the ground. The damage is already done. “Just _do it_ , Regina,” she orders and turns away.

But Regina is not quite done yet and grabs her arm. “Emma, wait. Give me time.”

The Sheriff wheels back around to fix her with those startlingly green eyes. “ _More_ time to get _more_ attached? Do you want to suffer?”

“Maura. She’s taking a two month sabbatical from work. Please,” Regina begs. She never wanted to beg Emma Swan for anything ever again, but she thinks Maura is worth it. Maura is worth everything.

Emma’s eyelids flicker shut. “Alright,” she agrees eventually. “But it’s your funeral.”

 


	6. Please Put Yourself In My Size 6 Shoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maura and Regina’s relationship suffers because of the truth about Storybrooke being unveiled and Jane is torn between going back to Boston and loyalty to her friend. Meanwhile, another dead body is found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Pretty graphic descriptions of death and autopsy. Also some implied dub-con.  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Rizzoli & Isles, nor do I own Once Upon a Time and their associated characters, plots and spin-offs.  
> AN: Please excuse my British oversights. Also unbetaed, so any mistakes belong to me.

 “How much longer until dinner?” Emma wanders over to the kitchen island and leans there on her elbows. Before the events of a few months ago, when her relationship with her son was still good, she and Henry had easily killed the time before dinner playing video games. But now she was her parents’ only guest to Sunday dinner and had only her own company to amuse her.

When she had locked up the station early that afternoon, Emma had very briefly contemplated going to Granny’s and issuing a casual invitation to Rizzoli, whose dinner plans probably extended to toast and jam. But common sense took over and she had gone to her parents’ apartment alone. Rizzoli didn’t trust her, probably rightly so, and Emma knew she would be even more freaked out to formally meet Emma’s parents – Snow White and Prince Charming.

No, Emma at least would exercise some amount of caution when it came to Rizzoli and Dr Isles.

But now she sits in her parents’ kitchen. Alone.

“Five more minutes, Emma,” Snow tells her somewhat impatiently, checking her with her hip as she reaches down to open the cupboard which her daughter is leaning against. Emma moves out of her way and slumps down into a chair at the table.

It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate her family, because she does. But Emma’s quickly discovering that the grass is always greener, to her misfortune. She remembers hearing school acquaintances whinge and moan about their overbearing parents and thinking that she’d do anything to have somebody care about her that much.

Now she has two somebodies. And they care so much about her. It’s great, lovely, sometimes it even gives her that soft, warm feeling inside that she only recalls feeling with Neal. But her school peers were right, it can be so _suffocating._

She misses Henry. With the two of them around, the balance of familial love had been more equal. Now her parents have nobody to focus on except for her.

There is a clank as a plate is set down in front of her. “Here we go,” her mother says cheerily, taking a seat opposite her. David has made lasagne and Emma almost vomits at the smell. Objectively, she’s sure it smells and tastes delicious, but lasagne is something she associates with Regina. The omnipotent Mayor had made other meals for Emma and Henry of course, but lasagne had been the first the three of them had shared.

“Looks great,” Emma comments through her teeth. She picks up her fork and makes a half-hearted attempt to scoop some stray mince up.

“Emma,” the tension in her dad’s voice catches her attention and she looks up mid-swallow. David has laced Snow’s fingers with his and has set their joined hands on the table. “We’ve got some news that we’d… like to share with you.”

The Sheriff’s stomach twists and it has nothing to do with the lasagne.

“We’re pregnant!” Snow suddenly bursts out, eyes sparkling like she couldn’t keep their announcement in for even a second longer. Emma’s own eyes widen and before she can stop herself, she puts her head in her hands.

She tries to force herself to think; what will a baby mean to her? To her relationship with her parents? But the thoughts won’t come and it’s just panic tinging her every sense.

“I’ve gotta go,” she says suddenly, standing up and leaving her portion of lasagne sitting on the table. “But congratulations – or whatever.”

She grabs her coat from the stand and dares not look back at where she knows her parents are still sitting at the table. Emma wonders if they are naïve enough to be surprised at her reaction to the news. Or maybe they just don’t know her like they think they do. Like they’d like to.

She jogs down the steps from the apartment and breathes cool, fresh air with relief.

Alone again.

Emma jams her hands in her jeans pockets and strolls off down the street. Casual on the outside, casual on the inside. Perhaps this will give her what she wanted… some space. Some separation. The words alone make Emma wince.

_God_ , why can’t she ever decide what she wants?

 

She’s never made it much of a secret that she likes sex. As a doctor, she knows how good the health benefits are. The endorphins are incredible. And with the right person, the emotional intimacy is unparalleled.

So Maura cannot and would not deny that she’d been looking forward to indulging herself in coitus with Regina Mills.

But _this_ , whatever this is, is just uncomfortable.

She may not have the most perceptive mind when it comes to the emotions of others but even she knows that something is wrong here. It’s not guesswork or intuition, or listening to her intestines as Jane advocates. It is mere observation.

Regina is moving hastily like they’re on a time limit and Maura is pinned down on her couch. Her blouse is unbuttoned and in the Mayor’s haste three buttons have even been ripped away. There’s a bite mark on her collarbone and whilst the throbbing pain isn’t necessarily unpleasant, it’s certainly not a mark she’d have imagined herself sporting after a sexual encounter with Regina.

It barely seems like five minutes ago that she was knocking on the front door for dinner.

Maura resolves to keep quiet. She had been anticipating _something_ like this happening tonight; so what if it’s a little more violent and less, well, _romantic_ than she would’ve predicted? Maura tips her head back and closes her eyes, enjoying the suckling sensation on her breast until… “Ow!” She yelps as teeth sink harder than before into her flesh. Maura detaches their bodies from one another and sits up on the couch, clutching the two sides of her blouse together.

“What’s wrong with you?” She demands of the other woman, running a frustrated hand through her hair. Perhaps Maura had come here with certain hopes and expectations, but this just feels like a ‘nasty, cheap fuck’, as Jane would put it.

Regina’s hand touches her shoulder and Maura lets it rest there, resisting the urge to shrug it off. “I’m sorry,” the other woman murmurs to her. “Do you not like that?”

Maura shakes her head in disbelief. “That’s not really the point, Regina. This morning you were so gentle, I was just expecting –“

Suddenly, the Mayor’s voice seems hard as a rock. “It’s not me that’s changed, dear. I think it’s your _perception_ of me, now that you know that I used to be… somebody else. Somebody different.”

“That’s not what I’m –“ Maura tries to assert herself.

“If you don’t want this,” Regina gestures between the two of them. “Because of what I was, because of what I’ve done, I’d get it.” But there’s bitterness in her voice and Maura can make a reasonably hypothesis that she’s lying. “So if you want somebody soft and gentle, you may as well leave now.”

“Regina – “ Maura begins to protest, but the Mayor cuts her off once more.

“Why don’t you take some time to think about whether you can stomach being with an Evil Queen,” Regina hisses at her, getting up off the coach.

“Wait, Regina… I do have a lot of questions and you’re right, I need time to think,” Maura picks and chooses her words as carefully as she can, before the woman she’s fallen for makes a dramatic exit. “But I have no desire to end our involvement at this moment.”

“At this moment?” The Mayor’s eyebrows shoot up. “So what, you’re going to ask me what my body count is? Take out your notebook and list my worst sins in order of depravity? Make a list of pros and cons of staying with a fairytale villain whom you believed to be fictitious yesterday?”

Maura feels her heart go cold. They’re getting uncomfortably near to ‘Queen of the Dead’ and ‘Maura the Bore-a’ territory and she doesn’t want to stay and hear it.

“On second thought, I’ll call you tomorrow,” she says shortly, getting up off the couch too and grabbing her coat, pulling it tight over her ruined blouse.

“With the results of your findings?” Regina mocks and Maura can’t decide whether the old Queen is trying to hurt her or if she just can’t help herself.

Instead, she decides to say nothing else and leaves, before any more is said that they both will regret the next morning.

 

Her limited funds will only stretch so far, Jane knows, so she has foregone dinner in Granny’s for microwaveable soup. At least Granny had let her use the microwave for free. But as she spoons the soup into her mouth, she finds every lukewarm mouthful fuels her resentment of her best friend.

Maura is the reason that she is in this mess.

For some reason, the rational and logical doctor has thrown her life into disarray for this trip to Maine to see a woman she had met exactly once.

It’s been fucking with Jane’s head, quite frankly.

All she’s wanted to do ever since she arrived in the godforsaken town is bundle Maura into the passenger seat and drive straight back to Boston, but events have made it increasingly harder to do so. From what Jane has seen that morning, Regina and her best friend seemed to have formed an overnight bond as strong as the one Jane had always believed that she and Maura shared.

Jane sets down her bowl of soup and closes her eyes. All day, ever since she and Maura were barraged with the most bizarre information Jane has ever heard in her _life_ , she has been trying to come to terms with this new reality.

  1. Magic and fairy tales and Evil Queens and curses –



It’s all far too much for someone as simple as Jane considered herself to be. Not that she’s stupid, because she knows she isn’t, but she likes the easy things in life. Good food, good friend… good beer.

She’s simply not equipped or prepared to deal with such revelations as these, not like _Maura_. Her best friend has accepted these stories like a duck accepts the water and it’s abundantly clear to Jane that the longer they stay here, the more she loses Maura.

Resolve burns low and furiously in her belly, and she gets down on her knees to drag her bag out from under the bed. It’s empty already – she wasn’t expecting to be away for more than a couple of days – and she chucks it on the bedspread.

Jane’s about to start packing when there’s a knock at the door.

Maura, Regina or Swan. They are the only people that Jane knows in this bloody town.

She opens the door to reveal the woman she chased all the way to Maine, sopping wet and shivering. “Jeez,” she mutters as she turns around, silently inviting her in. “It must be raining hard out there.”

“The car broke down,” Maura says by way of explanation. “And it was too wet for me to stop and fix it. Your tone suggests that you’re dissatisfied with me.”

“What made you guess that?” Jane mumbles under her breath, throwing the clothes she’d hastily discarded the previous evening into her bag.

Maura seemingly ignores her sarcasm and Jane can tell by the intake of breath that the other woman’s realised what she’d doing. “You’re _packing_?”

“Another excellent observation,” Jane wheels around. “And your tone _suggests_ that you’re dissatisfied with me too.”

But then she looks at Maura, properly looks at her. Yes she’s wet and she’s shivering, but there’s something Jane can’t quite see just under the collar of her coat and before she knows what she’s doing, she crosses the room. And pulls the collar aside.

Beneath is a bite mark, red and raw.

“Maura,” Jane breathes out. “What the hell? Take off your coat!”

The doctor shakes her head and pulls the garment even tighter around her. “I don’t want your pity, Jane. I just wanted…” But she doesn’t finish her sentence, turning around to leave.

“Maura.”

It’s the most commanding voice Jane has, the voice that makes every suspect at work shudder and every police offer respect her. “Take off the coat.”

When Maura turns back around, her eyes are closed, but she’s unbuttoning the garment with shaking hands. When she let it falls off her shoulders and on to the floor, Jane gasps loudly and immediately regrets doing so.

Maura turns around almost instantly, shaking her head, but it’s too late. Jane has seen the ripped blouse, the edge of another bite mark on her breast. “I shouldn’t have shown you that,” Maura mumbles, her voice full of regret even at such a low volume. “You’re going to overreact.”

“You’re damn right I’m overreacting!” Jane bursts out, disgust welling up as she wheels her best friend back around to look right in her eyes. “Did Regina do this to you?”

“Jane –“

But she had tuned Maura out, rifling through her drawer. She hadn’t been allowed to take her firearm across the state boundary, but she had thought to bring her baton just in case…

“Jane!” Maura grabbed her arm just her fingers closed around the stick and it came with her as Maura pushed her down on to her bed. “Shut up and listen to me, for God’s sake! And put that baton down.”

Hesitantly, Jane dropped it on the duvet. “If you defend her, Maura, I swear I’ll –“

“You’ll what?” Maura demanded. “Throw me over your shoulder in some pseudo chivalrous act with you as my patriarchal guardian? I’m an _adult_ , Jane. I’m perfectly capable of making rational decisions, unlike you it seems. What on earth were you planning on doing with that baton?”

“Killing your girlfriend with it,” Jane admits. “But come _on_ , Maura. How many bodies have you had on your table who were victims of husbands who just took the abuse one step too far? Too fucking many to make the same mistake yourself.”

Maura’s eyes widen. “ _Oh_. You think that these traumas could be considered as abusive?”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Jane resists rolling her eyes and reaches out a comforting hand to Maura’s forearm. “I’m sorry, Maura, but how the hell else would –“ Then she shuts her eyes as comprehension dawns. “Ah.”

“These marks,” she sweeps her wet hair over her shoulder and Jane grits her teeth as the dim bedroom light makes the indents seem even worse. “These _bites_ aren’t what worry me. It’s the thinking, the thought process that went into making them. I don’t understand her frame of mind.”

“Yes, let’s go straight into psychoanalysis to solve the problem!” Jane thrusts her hands in the air. Forget Regina, Jane can’t understand Maura’s frame of mind. Sure she gets that those _things_ were made when… Jane wrinkles her nose as she accidentally pictures Maura and Regina together. But had it been Jane, she’d have been out of there and packing her bags for a one-way ticket back to Boston.

But _no_ , Maura wants to play at getting into her girlfriend’s head.

“Maura,” Jane says firmly. “I don’t want to leave you here in Storybrooke. But everything, and by that I mean the…” she pauses, steeling herself to say the word. “ _Magic_ , all that shit… it’s too much. Neither of us are supposed to be here, we don’t belong with these people, Maura.”

“So you’re leaving,” Maura surmises, eyes darting towards the half-packed bag on the bed. “Were you even going to _tell_ me, Jane? I understand that our communication ever since you arrived has been a little lacking, but I’m still your friend. Your best friend, Jane.”

It’s a heartfelt appeal, and the Detective has to turn away for a second to steady her breathing. “Of course I was going to tell you, Maura,” she says as softly as she can. “But this is all far too much for me. People need me back in Boston. They need _us_. And for God’s sake Maura, _look at yourself._ If this is how you come way after just one night with the Evil Queen, what’s it going to be like at the end of your sabbatical?”

Maura ducks her head and Jane instantly feels guilty for scaring her. Truth be told, she’s scaring herself. Jane hasn’t let herself think of all the implications of what Swan had told them today. The Sheriff had given them a story straight out of Disney – the Evil Queen had cast a curse and all the fairytale characters had been sent to this world. But they’re not cartoons, they’re real people.

And real people tend to be much darker and more complex than any animation.

Jane doesn’t even dare to think about what the human version of the Evil Queen had done in the past. If stories were to be believed, she had tried to kill ‘Snow White’ several times. And if she was the only victim of the Queen’s evil, then Jane will count both she and Maura as very lucky indeed. But somehow, she doesn’t think Regina’s body count will be as low as one.

Jane sits down on the bed and grabs Maura’s hands in hers. “Sweetie, I want to leave this place, before either of us gets any more involved. I promise when we get back to Boston, we can forget the last couple of days ever happened. I won’t bring the cops down here or anything. Whatever is tethering you here, to _Regina_ , it’s not worth any of this.”

Her best friend’s eyes flutter shut and Jane winces at the surge of protectiveness that bursts through her like a flame as she takes the opportunity to re-examine the bite with her eyes. Nobody is allowed to hurt Maura as long as Jane’s around, even if this injury had been dubiously consensual.

“Okay,” the doctor whispers. She hiccups and Jane rubs Maura’s palms with the pads of her thumbs. “Better to cut off sooner rather than later.”

Jane cannot fight a sad smile. “Cut loose, sweetie.”

“You’ll just have to give me an hour to pack –“

Then Jane’s phone buzzes, its loud and obnoxious sound breaking the quiet tragedy in Maura’s voice. She picks up with a brief look of regret and apology to her best friend, answering it with her usual brusque “Rizzoli.”

“Hey, Rizzoli,” says an oblivious Swan at the other end of the line. “Are you still interested in that nun killer case?”

“Sure,” Jane says slowly. It’s not a lie… she’s interested, even if she and Maura are leaving inside an hour. “Why? What’s up?”

“It’s now a serial nun killer case.”

 

Emma’s eyes dart up when the little bell above Gold’s shop door rings. She knows that Rizzoli and Maura are on their way, as is her father, but she doesn’t want to be surprised by anybody who is possibly returning to the scene.

But she is relieved to see that her worry is needless when Rizzoli enters, holding the door for Maura. She looks back down at the body sprawled across the shop counter, rolling her eyes. Rizzoli is so deep in her denial that it makes Emma laugh.

Except if she laughs now, confronted with a gruesome dead body, somebody might take it upon themselves to lock her up below the hospital.

“Same M.O.?” Rizzoli casually enquires, causing Emma to look up again as the Detective saunters through the junk.

“Looks like it,” Emma nods. “Sternum nearly shattered and the heart’s been excavated. Doctor?” She sweeps a hand over the body, inviting Maura to take a look.

Emma steps back from the body as the Medical Examiner moves closer, accidentally brushing the skin of her exposed forearm over Rizzoli’s wrist. But Emma cannot reflect too long on the little jolt that penetrates her skin, as the bell tinkles again and Rumplestiltskin enters his shop.

“Sit,” Emma orders roughly, grabbing a chair from behind the counter and manhandling him into it. “Where did you go after you called in this murder?”

Rumple looks back at her, his brown eyes completely inscrutable, as is usual when one is dealing with the Dark One. “I was concerned for Belle’s safety,” Rumple snipes back at her. “Would you care to enlighten me about these strangers?”

“Of course,” Emma cocks her head to the side, most of her attention focussed on trying to figure out whether or not he’s lying. “This is Detective Rizzoli and Dr Isles, both from Boston Police Department. They’re consulting on the case.”

Rumple raises his eyebrows. “The case I called in twenty minutes ago? I didn’t realise the drive from Boston was so fast.”

“If you read the Mirror,” Emma dragged a stool over and sat down in front of him, her back aching from leaning over. “Then you’d know that this is the second body we’ve found. _Two_ dead nuns, both with their hearts ripped out of their chests.”

Rumple smirked, showing his slightly yellowed teeth. “That seems more Regina’s area of interest, dearie…”

“Maybe,” Emma nodded. “But she didn’t call this in. _You_ did.”

“Well I’m no expert,” Rumple sneered. “But when dead bodies get left on my shop counters, I tend to ring the authorities. Which means you, Sheriff Swan, unless you’d forgotten.”

“Right,” she grimaced in frustration, yanking him back out of the chair. “You’re coming down to the station for questioning. And if you don’t give me a damn good story, you’ll be spending the night there.”

“And if I refuse?” Rumple cocked an eyebrow, a half-smile still smeared on his face.

“I will arrest you for impending my investigation,” Emma said shortly. “Now, are we doing this the easy way, or the hard way?” 

With a giggle, Rumple put his hands up and allowed her to lead him outside.

 

In the cold silence of the hospital morgue, Maura Isles feels like she can finally relax. The air seems starker somehow and the tension she’s been carrying around for days momentarily retreats from her body.

She looks down at the corpse she has agreed to autopsy. Her temporary assistant is a stern-faced woman who had introduced herself as Ratched and the two of them have so-far worked in near silence as they tag and photograph the body.

The corpse has been identified by the Mother Superior as Sister Verna Felton, who looked to be in her mid-forties, but was apparently a few hundred years old. She is just as cold and dead as anybody else that has been on Maura’s table, but the doctor can’t help but feel a little _excited_ to perform this particular autopsy. Emma had mentioned to her that the nuns had all been fairies before they were transformed by the curse, and the Medical Examiner would be fascinated to see the nun’s internal biology.

“I’m going to start the x-ray machine, now, Dr Isles,” Nurse Ratched says in her cool tone, indicating that Maura should step out. She does so and spots a water cooler in the adjacent room. Stripping her gloves off over the sink, Maura turns around and promptly bumps into somebody with a gasp.

“Sorry, Dr Isles,” Emma says with that contained little smile of hers. “I shouldn’t have crept up on you.”

Maura shakes her head smiling. “It’s fine. I assume you’re here to watch the autopsy?”

When Emma nods, she bins her now-useless surgical gown and indicates the door to their right. “Let’s go scrub in then.”

 

As she washes, Maura cannot help but wonder where her friend is. Jane usually makes a point of watching every autopsy she performs, relevant to the case of course. Usually the most important evidence can be found on the body, which makes Maura wonder what exactly was consuming Jane’s attention.

“If you’re wondering where Rizzoli is,” Emma says from where she is struggling to fit a pair of surgical scrub pants over her skinny jeans. “I left her with Gold. She’s got more experience with cracking a suspect that I do and Gold is one hard nut.”

“I wasn’t going to ask,” Maura replies honestly. “When she’s on a case, my only responsibility towards her is making sure all evidence is sent up accurately and in a timely manner.”

The doctor pushes the door to the morgue open with her posterior, keeping her new gloves clear of the door. She gestures Emma through, then steps up to the table.

Time to do what she does best.

As always, the time flies quickly as she becomes more and more engrossed in her work. She also tends to become more oblivious to the people around her, noticing only her assistant as she holds out syringes and scalpels.

So it takes her a moment to notice Emma’s slightly abrasive voice as she carefully handles the spleen. “You seem to be adjusting very well to all of this.”

Maura thinks this over as she takes the smallest slice of the organ and sets it aside. “I’ve always had a mind receptive to new information,” she answers the unspoken question after a moment. “As a small child, I wanted to know everything in the world there was to know. My infantile conscious was captivated by everything from microbiology to the reaches of outer space.”

“Science and magic aren’t the same,” Emma tells her softly. “Magic is the stuff of fairy tales, and I’d be willing to bet you didn’t read too many of those.”

Maura chuckles, bent over the corpse. “And you’d be right. But how could I not be fascinated by magic? By these alternate universes? This whole other facet of life I didn’t even know existed before now!” She looked up at Emma, eyes gleaming. “Jane doesn’t get it. She wants to go back to when she perceives life to have been normal. But I want to learn as much as I possibly can.”

Emma nods slowly. “As long as you promise not to publish any academic papers about it, I think I could be good with that. Obviously I’m not the person to go to for information, but Regina or Jefferson are pretty good sources.”

Wielding her scalpel, Maura gives Emma a wry smile. “I’m not sure Regina wants to see me at the moment.”

“Really?” The Sheriff frowns back through her surgical goggles. “That’s surprising. I thought that with a time limit on your relationship, you’d want to spend as much of it together as possible.”

Maura winces, having shared the same perspective to Emma prior to the previous evening. She had left the crime scene late at night and had gone back to her room for a quick nap before rising early to arrive at the hospital at seven, sharp. She hadn’t seen or heard a word from Regina since she had left her house with a ripped blouse and rage-induced trembling.

“Well…” She mumbles. “That was before Regina assumed that her morally dubious past was a large deterrent to my dating her.”

“And isn’t it?” Emma’s eyes slide down to Maura’s blood-soaked gloves as she carefully lifts the last of the internal organs out of the nun’s body.

Maura shrugs as she hands the last slice of tissue over to Nurse Ratched to be labelled. “There are a lot of bad people in my life, Emma.” She shrugs, finding the perfect spot behind the ear with her scalpel. “Not many people like to watch this part,” she warns.

Then she cuts a deep incision all the way along the nun’s scalp with her blade and the blood begins to sluggishly drip down.

 

She does not know why, but as they strip off their gowns and scrubs, Emma invites Maura to have breakfast with her. The doctor is much more interesting that the Sheriff had first perceived her to be and she feels almost guilty.

Despite the fact that Maura has likely managed to win the heart of the mother of her son, the woman she so foolishly let down, Emma cannot view the other blonde as a competitor. For one thing, Maura seems to be lacking any innate human irrationalities – jealousy, rage, stubbornness. She can see why both Rizzoli and Regina appear to be in love with her, and Emma is determined not to envy Maura for her own peace of mind.

There’s a strange light in the other woman’s eyes as she offers to buy them both breakfast. It’s almost like Maura is unused to receiving such gestures of amity. But that can’t be; Emma knows she and Jane have a strong bond they both call friendship and she’s sure that the Medical Examiner has a plethora of friends back in Boston.

When they are seated and Ruby has taken their orders, Emma removes her phone from her jeans pocket. “Business first, I’m afraid,” the Sheriff shoots her an apologetic look and starts recording. “Can you state your name and credentials for my records, please.”

“Dr Maura Isles, Chief Medical Examiner for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.”

“And can you please verify why you have performed this autopsy instead of the town coroner, Dr Victor Whale?” Emma continues. There is no chance that the murderer, whomever they are, will go on trial, as Storybrooke has no court or justice system. But she learned from her investigation of Kathryn Nolan’s disappearance a year or so ago that keeping crystal clear records is as helpful as any clue at a crime scene.

“I was in town on unrelated business and was asked to consult, as my credentials outrank his,” Maura replies clearly and concisely. Emma wonders how many trials she’s testified at, how many killers her evidence has helped to put away. Once again, she regrets her hasty pre-judgement of the doctor.

“Can you give me any definitive conclusions about the victim, Dr Isles?”

Maura clasps her hands around her newly-arrived coffee mug tightly. “Sister Verna Felton. Age unknown. From the temperature of the body when I examined it and other environmental factors, I can estimate that time of death was around twelve to fourteen hours previously.”

“Cause of death?” Emma pushes, keen to turn off the recorder and ask Maura something personal, her curiosity eating her up.

“Well the most notable thing about the corpse was that the heart had been removed from the chest. I can’t confirm that there was no other cause of death until I get my tox screen back.”

Emma turned the recorder off hastily and jammed the phone back in her pocket with a smile. She took a gulp of coffee, then met Maura’s confused hazel eyes. “I want to ask you something off the record.”

“Of course,” Maura smiles. “You’re the Sheriff and I’m in your town. I’m at your liberty.”

“It’s more of a personal thing,” Emma admits, fidgeting a little on the worn leather seat. “But the more I learn about you, the more I wonder why you’re here. You seem as rational, scientific, and as unshakeable as they come. So I guess my question is… why leave everything in Boston behind and come here to pursue a woman you once had a five minute conversation with?”

Just then, their breakfasts arrive. Maura looks relieved at the reprieve and Emma feels almost guilty, except she _really_ wants to know. The doctor cuts herself a dainty piece of egg white omelette and eats it slowly, contemplation in her features.

“It all comes down to one pivotal event in my life, really,” Maura confesses after a moment and Emma leans forward across the table. “My sister died.”

 


End file.
